


Red & Redder

by Khaosprinz



Series: Bat Brothers-Verse [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Red Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 06:43:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaosprinz/pseuds/Khaosprinz
Summary: After first Damian's and now Dick's deaths, everything pointed towards Tim being the only Robin left. Jason begged to differ.





	Red & Redder

**Author's Note:**

> Requiem and then _Forever Evil_ from The New 52 happened, nothing else. Damian is dead, Dick is fake-dead, no weird & chaotic travels through the time stream for the Teen Titans.

When Tim slowly rose to consciousness, everything was in darkness. Silence. He felt numb. He tried to open his eyes, strained his ears, reached out, but nothing. Everything stayed black.

He tried to move his body but he wasn’t sure whether it obeyed or not, whether it was just his imagination. There was absolutely nothing around him.

_Am I dead?_

In any other situation, he might’ve found it worrisome that this thought was accompanied only by curiosity. He wasn’t alarmed or scared, just… curious. Whether this was death, whether this was the same place his friends and family had been, too. Whether they’d felt the same things he did now – namely, nothing.

He tried opening his eyes again but it was no use, it was as if they’d been glued shut. He attempted to open his mouth, just to see whether this place was truly as silent as it appeared to be or if his hearing had been somehow compromised, but his mouth wouldn’t open, either. Tim furrowed his brows – this wouldn’t do. If that was what the afterlife was like, he’d like to pass on that for as long as possible. Thus, he doubled, tripled his efforts. He tried to focus on moving his eyelids, his lips and it didn’t take long until a painful, unfamiliar exhaustion crawled into his body, but he was not going to give up.

He was sure that sweat was rolling off his temples in thick beads even if he couldn’t actually feel them, but he was almost there, he could tell – the weight immobilising him seemed to be shifting slowly, millimetre by millimetre and with one final push, his eyes finally opened as did his mouth and suddenly – 

The blackness around him disappeared, replaced by grey and more grey he couldn’t discern, blurry shapes and fuzzy images. His ears started working again, too, and there were strange noises that rang through his head, much too shrill, causing it to throb painfully. He tried to say something, but nothing but a strange, scratchy sound came out. For some reason, he didn’t have much energy left and the exertion soon dragged him back into darkness.

The next time Tim came to, he was a lot clearer and a lot less numb. He realised he was lying down in a bed, the soft mattress engulfing his figure comfortably. His entire body was aching and he was struggling to open his eyes. A sharp pain soon made him forget his endeavour of trying to sit up.

“Relax, Bird Boy”, a voice at his side said quietly. It sounded vaguely familiar, but not in the good way – it made the tiny hairs on his arms and neck stand, activating his fight-or-flight instinct. “No one’s out to get you. You’re in the infirmary at the Titan’s Tower.”

He was? Why? Tim tried to focus but the beeping noises made it difficult. He slowly opened his eyes and was greeted by black and grey colours and shapes. Blinking a few times gingerly, the blurry figures around him turned out to be medical equipment. After a few more moments he realised this was indeed the medical bay in the Teen Titan’s Tower. He wanted to ask why he was here, he couldn’t remember, but his vocal folds were refusing to work properly and the only sound coming out of his mouth was a coarse, scratchy groan. Something was placed in front of his lips.

“Drink this. You’ve been out for a while”, the voice said again, and while it still made him wary, he decided to trust it for now – if the owner had wanted to harm him they’d have long since done so, right?

He carefully took a few sips of the cool water and cherished the feeling of it running down his parched throat. Once the glass was removed, he slowly turned his head to the side to take a look at his – observer? What were they? The dimmed lighting, as much of a relief as it was to his eyes, made it difficult to recognise them immediately, but once Tim's eyes happened upon the unmistakable spot of white hair amongst black, he almost panicked.

“Easy there, Wonder Boy”, Jason said again, meeting his gaze out of widened eyes head-on. He was lounging in a chair next to the bed, the signature red hood of his jacket halfway bunched up around his head and legs crossed at the ankles. He was eyeing Tim neutrally, but there was something tight in the corners of his mouth. “They did quite the number on you. The rest of your little parade isn’t much better off, aside from Wonder Girl and your Superboyfriend. You think he wouldn’t have come barging in here to have my head if I wanted to hurt his precious little princess?”

Jason barely gave Tim the time to answer – or process, really, because he still couldn’t remember why he was hurt in the first place, much less so his entire _team –_ before waving in the general direction of the door dismissively. “You tore quite a few muscles there so _relax_. Tensing up like this is only going to make it worse.” He brushed a hand through his hair, snorting, the sound lacked any real humour, though. “I thought you were supposed to be _smart_.”

Tim was still wary, cautious, but he decided to give Jason the benefit of the doubt for now, so he carefully forced himself to ease up.

For a moment, they both stayed silent and Tim used the moment to study his estranged ‘brother’. His clothes were crumpled; he could spot a few dark stains on Jason’s jacket and there was a tear in the stylised, bright red batsymbol on his chest, dark body armour peeking through the dirty white cotton. Now that he was getting a better look, he noticed how exhausted Jason was. There were dark rings underneath his eyes, the sight far too familiar. He looked as if he’d just gotten out of a fight. Tim frowned.

“What are you doing here?”, he asked, voice barely audible and hoarse from disuse.

“What, can't I pay a visit to my poor, bed-ridden ‘baby brother’ without any ulterior motives?” Jason asked, the incredulity so fake it wasn't even funny anymore. Tim merely gave him an unimpressed look in return, slowly raising one of his eyebrows.

“... Believe it or not, but I _am_ here for you.” Making an expression as if this admittance was physically painful, Jason brushed his hair back, messing his usually unruly looks up even further. “By the way, I upped your pain meds, now that you’re awake.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“You're a little shit, you know that?”, Jason snarked, but the creases around his mouth smoothed over a little. Tim could feel the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

He could hear Jason letting out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh and Tim could feel himself relaxing a little further. As difficult as it was to wrap his befuddled mind around the situation, it wasn't… bad. He sobered up, though, when Jason opened his mouth again, his tone flat but sprinkled with hesitance.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Tim frowned in concentration. His mind was still muddy; the pictures were blurred. All he could remember was a great sense of… urgency. Dread. He tried to grasp at the disconnected images in his head.

“Something… happened. Something bad”, he said out loud, slowly, as he struggled to put the visions flashing in his mind into order. Jason, to his surprise, listened quietly. “Someone was in trouble, and… The Flash? No…”

“Johnny Quick.”

For a moment, time slowed to a complete halt. Tim just laid there, letting the name echo in his head as his mind temporarily just seemed to blank out. Then, everything came crashing down on him at once – the pictures of Johnny Quick and Atomica curb-stomping his team, the ice-cold dread seeping into his bones upon learning the Justice League was defeated. His chest constricted and he had trouble breathing as his vision flashed with the image of Nightwing – of Dick, bound – mask taken away – 

He shot up, adrenaline rushing through his body, making him forget the pain. His eyes were wide, panicked; and strong hands appearing out of nowhere, pushing him back, were the only reason he wasn't on his feet already.

“Nightwing! Dick! What happened to him? The Justice League?” One frantic question after another came pouring out of Tim's mouth as he struggled against Jason's hold. “Is Bruce alright? The other Titans, are they –”

“They're going to be okay”, Jason grumbled, voice laced with irritation as he firmly placed his hands on Tim's shoulders to prevent him from doing something stupid like jumping out of bed in his condition. “A little banged up but they'll live. And now _calm the fuck down_ if you don't want your Superknight to tear down the goddamn wall and rip my head off.”

Tim didn't want to obey but the adrenaline rush was already wearing off again, leaving an even heavier exhaustion and dull aches in his in its stead. He stopped trying to escape Jason's grip and the older man cautiously let go of him, eyeing him like a hawk in case Tim changed his mind and started another attempt at storming out of the med bay. Occupied with his wildly whirling thoughts and his chest feeling uncomfortably tight, Tim barely noticed how the tight lines around Jason's mouth returned or the grim, almost defeated way his shoulders had tensed up.

“And Dick? Bruce?”, Tim asked again, hands shooting up to clamp around Jason's wrists tightly before they were out of reach. “The Justice League? Are they really –”

“They're fine, too”, Jason interrupted gruffly, looming weirdly over Tim – torso twisted at an odd angle that couldn’t be comfortable, hovering above – and not fighting against the vice-like grip on his arms. “I don't know all the details, but I heard they never actually died. Were stuck in some kind of pocket dimension of some sort, similar to you and your Teen Misfits. B's… fine, too, I guess.”

Some of the weight pressing down on Tim's ribcage was lifted and he dared taking a deep breath, his mind clearing a little, his grip on Jason's wrists loosening. That was good. But now that his wits were slowly returning, he began noticing two things – 

A: Jason looked _horrible_. It wasn't just the dark circles around his turquoise eyes which were by far the most obvious tell. But Tim hadn't studied under _the_ _Batman_ for nothing. He could see the deep crease between his eyebrows, the way his mouth seemed to constantly be slanted downwards in something other than the familiar anger or displeasure. There was a slight stubble on his chin and his clothes were rumpled as if he'd slept in them – if he'd slept at all. Tim cast a careful look at Jason's hands that he was still holding in place and yep – his knuckles were bruised and split open, barely treated. This certainly did not bode well.

And B: Jason was not answering his queries about Dick's well-being. The alarm bells in his head were ringing loudly and he could feel his throat going dry with anxiety. His fingers tightened again, pressing down onto Jason's muscles hard enough he could feel his pulse. It was fast.

“Jason”, Tim started slowly, but his voice was strong if a little coarse. “ _What about Dick_.”

Jason merely looked down at him for a moment, turquoise boring into crystal blue, grinding his teeth. The weight on Tim's chest returned when his subconsciousness put the pieces of a puzzle he'd _never_ wanted to complete together. He could feel his breath growing faster, but shallow, the dizziness returning, and he forced himself to calm down. That was _impossible_. He must've made the wrong deduction, based it on clues that were half-arsed at best – he didn't _know_ Jason, there could be a number of reasons for his condition, for why he was here, and – 

“Dick's dead.”

For the second time in too short a period, everything around Tim seemed to freeze. It was as if the colours, muted to begin with, completely drained from the world around him, as if they wanted to adapt to the dull, emotionless tone of Jason's voice and the cold numbness spreading through Tim's body once again.

He stared up, unmoving, jaw slack. He blinked, his mouth forming the word _What…?_ and Jason merely looked back, the hurt barely visible in his eyes underneath all the layers of rage and disdain. They just looked at each other for a while, neither moving a muscle until Tim's hands simply slid off Jason's wrists, landing in the bed with a soft _thud_ that jostled the needle of his IV, but the pain didn't even register through the foggy haze surrounding his brain.

“He's dead”, Jason repeated monotonous and Tim felt the irrational desire to punch him, kick him, _break him_ for telling such a nasty, _horrible_ lie. “Alfred told me.”

But it wasn't a lie. Everything about Jason screamed that he was telling the truth, the anguish hidden under layers of ire and buried deeply was genuine. Dick was dead.

_Richard Grayson was dead._

Tim had thought the emotional rollercoaster would've been done for the day, but he’d apparently been _very_ wrong about that. Even though he still felt disconnected from his body – almost detached, as if it wasn't his own, which was almost kind of funny, really – the entire weight of the news came crashing down on him at once and he couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes, fruitlessly hoping that it would help against the burning, covering his face with one trembling hand.

“Thought you'd appreciate hearing it from… someone other than the newspaper”, a voice to his left said quietly, strained. Tim didn’t react, just squeezed his eyes tightly shut and took a shuddering breath. He remained in this position, and now that Jason was done bearing the worst news he possibly could, it didn’t seem like he felt the need to stay any longer. Tim paid no mind to the scraping noises, followed by shuffling and steps leaving him alone in the infirmary, instead trying to regulate his breathing to something at least vaguely resembling normal through sheer force of will. He failed.

A few minutes later, Tim still desperately fought against the tears that were threatening to spill, his breathing uneven and hitching, pressing his arm tightly down on his face as he laid there. He could hear the door to the medical bay opening again and a person taking a few hesitant steps into the room.

“Rob?”, a voice different from Jason’s said, gentle and sympathetic. Tim didn’t answer but the person came closer regardless, and soon the mattress dipped when someone sat down on it. Moving his arm away from his eyes, Tim wavered a look at the newcomer. Kon. Of course.

He let out a shaky breath, putting his arm down altogether and pulled himself into a sitting position. His friend – his best friend, really, looked at him sadly before carefully putting a hand on his shoulder. “Kon, I –”, something got caught in Tim’s throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak without the dams he’d valiantly fought to keep holding up finally breaking.

“I know”, Kon replied, softly, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

And break they did. Tim hunched forward, disregarding the waves of pain it shot through his battered body. He buried his fingers in his hair, pulling hard in a vain attempt to regain control when hot tears slid down his cheeks and dripped onto the blanket, the dark blotches blurring along with his vision.

“I can’t –”, he started, voice cracking as another swell of tears surged forth, ripping a wail from his throat. “He can’t be – Kon, I never apologised and now he’s – Dick is –”

Words left him and Tim couldn’t do anything but let the tears flow freely, heaving sobs so pathetic he was sure to break Conner's heart.

Tim felt a strong arm curling around his shoulder and a hand removing his fingers that still tore painfully at his hair, redirecting him to Kon himself, letting him clutch at his shirt. He leant forward until his forehead was resting on Conner’s shoulder, his best friend slowly rubbing his back in an attempt to comfort him, holding him as Tim wept.

* * *

Jason didn’t visit him again for as long as he was in the infirmary.

The other Titans had visited him, though, and Tim had been relieved to see they were fine with his own eyes. Naturally, he was in the worst shape of all of them, but he figured that was what one got when someone as normal and unremarkable as him decided to play superhero.

They’d been careful with him, sympathetic, leaving him alone when he wanted to be alone and keeping him company when he didn’t. Whenever he needed or wanted something, Bart was already gone and back before Tim had finished the sentence, practically throwing whatever it was into his face without asking any questions, no matter how outlandish of a request it might be. He appreciated it, really, but it did nothing to diminish the grief ruling over him at any minute of every day. He knew that _they_ knew, but they didn’t ask and Tim appreciated _that_ the most.

Except for Kon who’d already known about his fight with Dick a couple weeks before – _before_. And it was only with Kon that Tim loosened his iron-like grip on the regrets threatening to devour him. It wasn’t that bad most of the time, but right now?

He was staring at the white and black envelope lying on his nightstand. That hadn’t been there last evening, before he’d fallen into a restless sleep that left him more exhausted than refreshed. He didn’t need to open it to know what it said. He didn’t _want_ to open it, to read the final proof that it was real and not just a cruel joke. Tim also didn’t want to think about what it meant that Bruce hadn’t even called or asked about him, much less paid him a visit. He’d have spent his recovery in the Manor and not in the Titan’s Tower if there wasn’t something wrong with Bruce, either.

Tim sat on his bed, mindlessly browsing the internet and pulling at one of the bandages covering his arm when Kon entered the room. He stopped in front of the door and Tim gave him a small, pained smile.

“Who brought it?”, he asked simply, nodding towards the white envelope with black linings.

“Jason”, Kon replied equally plain before coming closer and dropping down on the chair in front of the desk. Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“You know what I don’t understand?”, he asked quietly, “Why he’s doing this. I mean, he hasn’t tried to _actually_ kill me for a while now, but we weren’t exactly best buds before. Why’s he doing everything B _should_ be doing?”

He watched as Kon crossed his arms in front of his chest, mulling things over. After a few seconds of silence passed between them, he finally answered.

“Well. This is going to sound harsh, but… I don’t know him half as well as you guys did but from what I’ve heard, he… really doesn’t have a lot of things left to lose”, Conner mused. “Now, I know he’s kind of the black sheep in your family, but…” He hesitated and Tim could almost feel it in his bones that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. “I guess he realised he should at least try to get along with you. With Batman shutting himself off like that, it’s just the two of you left now.”

Tim rubbed at his face, ignoring the way his eyes were stinging again and took a shuddering breath.

“It’s – _not_ just us. There’re Cass, and Stephanie –”

“– and Black Bat is usually in Hong Kong and Batgirl is only around for emergencies because she's going to college now. I’m sorry, Rob, but I think you need me to be honest here.”

His breath stuttered briefly and Tim threw his best friend another strained smile. “As always, you’re right”, he amended, voice thick. “What would I do without you?”

Kon just grinned at him for a moment before sobering up again.

“I think Jason’s honestly trying, by the way”, he supplied and Tim snorted.

“Yeah. Dropping a bomb like _that_ on me and disappearing right after sounds like a _great_ way to patch things up between us.”

“That probably wasn’t the smoothest way to do it, true, but… he pretty much kicked me out of the infirmary once he got here, even said this was a family thing. Not in so many words, more like _get lost, this is a bat thing_ , but... I let him because, well – he _was_ kind of right. I kept an ear out, of course, and checked in every once in a while. Took a couple days until you were awake for longer than a few seconds and actually conscious. He seemed to be... struggling with himself. If I had to guess, I’d say he wasn’t sure whether to, well, give _you_ a try, or just leave it all behind altogether. But he stuck around, so I’d say his answer is clear.”

As petty and petulant as Tim wanted to be, that actually _did_ kind of sound like something Jason would do. He sighed, throwing another look at the dreaded envelope before flinching away from it again.

“... And B is being B”, Tim concluded morosely, fidgeting with his bandages again. “Probably locked himself in either his study or the Cave. Poor Alfred probably has to force-feed him. Makes sense I’m here, then, instead of Gotham.”

Kon nodded before swirling in a circle on the chair. When he stopped, his eyes rested on the envelope.

“Do you want me to check?”

Tim’s breath hitched and even though a part of him was screaming _no, family thing, don’t be such a pussy, Drake, you can open one small letter_ he nodded, clenching his jaw.

“Just… tell me the time and date”, he agreed, defeated. He stared down at his laptop without actually seeing it when Conner got up and he heard paper being torn apart.

“... In two days, at 10am.”

* * *

Two days later, 10am.

Tim stood next to Bruce and Alfred, the former barely distinguishable from the marble statues surrounding them. He'd barely said a word the entire morning, only greeting him with a tight “Tim…” and a hesitant hand on his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. Tim tried not to think too much about it, fully aware that Bruce… wasn't good with these things. With emotions. Dealing with them. So he'd let it slide, just taking what he could get in his own grief.

Alfred had looked at him and looked very much broken. But he was Alfred, so of course he'd bounce back. He always would as long as there was someone who still needed him. Tim just felt horrible for what he and the rest of the family kept putting the man through. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve any of this and yet here they were, forcing him to sit through one of his grandsons’ funeral a third time.

Cassandra was on Bruce’s other side, not openly crying, but her entire posture screamed sadness and defeat. Stephanie was next to her, clutching tightly at her hand as tears kept spilling over her cheeks. They’d both enveloped Tim in hugs when he’d arrived, one gentle and cradling and the other crushing and grounding.

Tim let his eyes wander, trying to tune the words that were being said out. So many people were there – the Justice League, the Outsiders, other unaffiliated vigilantes. Dick had been so popular, both inside as well as outside the superhero community. It was breathtaking and so unlike the small service for family only Damian had received a few weeks ago. But even thinking of going for a small circle would have been a ludicrous idea – not even the collective armies of the entire planet could’ve kept Wally from coming.

He heard someone stepping closer from behind him, coming to a stop to his right, and Tim cast a careful glance to the side. Jason. He was even wearing a suit similar to Tim’s own, no doubt having been provided by Alfred. The white strand of hair brushing his forehead stood out like a sore thumb amongst all the black.

“Looks like you can finally walk again”, Jason commented stiffly, tone only half as biting as it could be, eyes fixed on the coffin in front of them. “Thought they’d be wheeling your scrawny ass around.”

Tim shrugged. While most of the bandages were gone by now, most motions still hurt and all the painkillers and medication were rendering him tired and exhausted most of the time. He shot a quick look at Bruce who hadn’t moved at all but Tim would bet his remaining organs that he had known Jason was here before anyone else did.

“I'll be able to go back on patrol in eight days”, Tim informed him quietly, looking at the casket as it was lowered into the grave, even if it made him feel numb.

“I've been wondering”, Jason began, voice gruff, and Tim could hear him shifting on the spot, clothes rustling as he presumably shoved his hands into his pockets. “Aren't you, like, the type to bury yourself in work, just like _daddy-dearest_? How come I haven't had to scrape your remains off the street, put them in matchboxes and send them back to the Manor yet?”

“... I'm not Bruce”, Tim replied quietly, “and I don’t want to be him.”

He wasn't quite sure why he was telling Jason this, but Kon's words still echoed in his ears, and just the fact that his 'brother’ was here was another hint that he'd been right. And Tim could still remember the time when he'd followed Bruce and Jason around, snapping photographs of a young boy wearing yellow and green with a wild grin and cocky attitude he'd come to admire. Plus, and as ridiculous as it sounded, he thought that Dick… Dick deserved better than being ignored, than having his family pretend he'd never existed. He had given Tim – _all of them_ – so much. The least he could do was not pretending to be a machine and mourn him properly.

Jason threw him a look that could almost be considered appreciative.

“Hold onto that thought…”, he whispered, eyes staring hard at the hole in the ground and the people walking up to it, one after another. “... and I just might stop wanting to maim you.”

“Aww, Jason. That's _so sweet_ of you.”

“Replacement.” Tim received a glare that was ninety per cent scathing, malicious and heated, and ten per cent amused. “Don't push it.”

* * *

The next few weeks were… bumpy, to say the least.

Tim and Damian, after the latter’s miraculous return from the dead, had not just reached the lowest point in their practically non-existent relationship since the very beginning, but also finally some sort of truce. They still weren’t the bestest of friends foreverest, nowhere close to that, but they were… managing.

And Jason… Jason hadn’t let himself be either seen or heard. Until now.

Tim was on his way back to the Nest, having finished his patrol near City Hall for the night and he was really looking forward to some leftover pasta Alfred had _somehow_ smuggled into his fridge. But when he landed on a rooftop near Monolith Square, he stopped. His senses tingled. Something was off. He carefully surveyed the area.

“14 thugs in 23 minutes. Nine broken noses, seven broken wrists, two broken jugulars, four dislocated shoulders, one broken clavicle, seventeen cracked ribs, four broken femurs, three broken cheekbones, four broken jaws and a dislocated sternum. And a couple ruptured organs. Not bad, Bird Boy. Not bad at all”, a familiar voice drawled behind him. Tim tensed up, mouth setting into a firm line as he whirled around, hands clenched into fists so tightly the bruised and split skin of his knuckles was stretched over the bones. He could feel the fresh blood seeping into the already drenched insides of his gauntlets, mixing with the blood from earlier.

“Hood”, he hissed, narrowing his eyes behind his mask. “What are you talking about?” He really wasn’t in the mood right now.

Jason stepped out from the shadows, a red domino replacing his signature helmet for the night, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“That ring you busted earlier. That’s their medical record for the night.” Jason crossed his arms in front of his chest, letting out a long stream of smoke before inclining his head. “Seems like you _do_ actually have it in ya. Even without your cute little stick.”

Tim scoffed and threw Jason a withering glare that didn’t seem to faze him at all. “I don’t need my staff to deal with scumbags like _that._  How do you know?”

Jason took a long drag from his cigarette before tapping the comm in his ear. “Oracle.”

 _Of course._ Before he had the chance to say something, Hood continued, “So, what’s got the geeky Robin so worked up he starts breaking faces like a pro?”

Red Robin snarled, but it was only partially directed at Jason himself. He could feel the anger from earlier bubbling up again and he took a deep breath to keep it from spilling over, from erupting like a volcano.

“... They trash-talked Nightwing”, he replied stiffly and he could see Jason’s shoulders tensing just a little. For some reason, the motion seemed to drain all the anger from Tim and he could soon feel his shoulders slumping as he let out a defeated breath. He brushed his hands through his hair. “I overdid it, didn’t I.” It was not a question. “Fuck.”

Jason flicked the cigarette butt away and gave him a long look. Then, he suddenly turned around, motioned for Tim to come over and disappeared back into the shadows.

Red Robin stared after him for a moment, confused, before following. After a few steps, he spotted Jason sitting down in a secluded corner of the roof, a six-pack of beer and a large pizza box next to him. Tim stopped dead in his tracks and stared down at him blankly.

“What.”

“Get your arse down here or you’re not getting any”, Jason ordered harshly as he pulled one of his legs up, resting his elbow on his knee.

Tim took the liberty to stare for another moment while Hood, completely unperturbed, grabbed a bottle of beer and opened it with his lighter. Finally, Tim huffed. “Neither of us is old enough to drink yet”, he informed but walked over to drop down next to other regardless.

“Oh, _boo-ey._ Who're you gonna call? Brucie, who's been filling you up with champagne and wine at every goddamn gala in the country since you were 16?” Jason thrust a second bottle into Tim’s hands who merely stared at it for a moment before shrugging his shoulder, holding it back out to Jason.

“I can’t open this without an actual bottle opener.” He could _feel_ Jason rolling his eyes underneath his mask, but the bottle was taken from him nevertheless.

“Don’t they teach you kids _anything_ useful at Nerd Camp?”, he asked gruffly but returned the now opened bottle seconds later.

Red Robin gauged it for a moment, ignoring the way his knuckles were throbbing and probably starting to stick the inside of his gauntlets. “They taught me how to hack your phone and change all your ringtones to _Barbie Girl_ ”, he replied nonchalantly before shrugging and raising his beer to his lips.

The next few hours would forever be burned into Tim’s mind as the time Jason Peter Todd was having a normal, albeit slightly awkward, conversation with him. After the initial minutes of silence during which they’d gotten started on their pizza, Jason had started talking. About the time Dick had talked him into trying to smuggle some of Alfred’s pastries out of the Manor for him. And that time Nightwing had saved his arse from Penguin’s henchmen. And that time Dick had secretly picked him up from school and dragged him to the mall. And more stories like that.

At first, Tim only listened, heart heavy with nostalgia and an almost acidic burn of longing for his beloved older brother. But then Jason had reminded him of _that_ horrendous costume, called it _Discowing_ , and Tim had laughed so hard he felt like he’d cracked at least two ribs. He had completely forgotten about that, possibly even somewhat overlooked it in the star-struck admiration his naive, thirteen years old self had felt for Dick back then.

And suddenly, most of the tense atmosphere was gone and they spent a long while talking about their deceased brother, sharing stories and adventures and making fun of his horrible taste in clothes and music. It didn’t take long until Tim did most of the talking – he knew that Dick and Jason hadn’t had a great start either, but the latter didn’t seem to be overly bothered by it at this moment. So Tim kept talking.

About the time Dick had been _his_ Batman. About training with him and learning to bend your body in the most unnatural ways. About the time they’d started a popcorn fight in the Manor, earning one of Alfred’s patented glares that Tim would swear was still giving him nightmares. About hijacking the Batplane to chase after the General into the middle of a war zone. About crashing at Dick’s place whenever Bruce was being too much _Bruce_ for anyone to handle, about staying up all night to watch movies and play video games and eat junk food.

A long while later, the six-pack gone and Pizza long since demolished, did Tim, more than just a little buzzed, reach the moment things between him and Dick had turned sour. About Damian appearing out of nowhere, about Dick firing him, about their fights. About how he knew he had been unfair, too, and regretted nothing more than never having gotten the chance to say sorry.

And all the while, Jason just listened quietly. Laughing and humming and cursing at the appropriate parts. Staying silent once the mood turned sober, even if they weren’t. And once Tim was finished, elbows leaning on his knees and hunched forward, empty bottle of beer clutched tightly in his hands, he merely produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from God knows where. Pouring the both of them some with unsteady hands, he replaced the bottle in Tim’s hands with one of the glasses before raising it.

Tim looked back at him, eyes glassy and not quite following, but then his foggy mind caught up and he straightened a little again. He raised his glass as well.

“To Dick Grayson”, he said, words somewhat slurred, and they both drank down.

* * *

A few days later, Tim found himself lying on a creeper underneath his Redbird 2.0 (he really needed to think of a better name) at the bottom level of his Nest. He'd originally only planned on making some adjustments on the front axle, but then he figured that he might as well check on everything else while he was down there.

Bruce would stare him into submission for using his computer systems to loudly blare music through the entire vicinity, but alas. His place, his rules. He tapped his feet along with the beat of the current song as he tightened up some screws, about to wrap up this whole endeavour.

“[ _Here we go again, I will not give in_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qzw6A2WC5Qo)”, he hummed along with the music, blindly grabbing for another, larger wrench from where it had to be lying somewhere near his legs. “ _I've got a reason to fight_.”

The moment his fingers found the cool metal, an alarm chime interrupted the song and he briefly tensed up, about to dash out from under the car to put this place in lockdown. But then he recognised the tune as the one he'd set for Jason and his eyebrows shot up. Tim had keyed him into the security systems just a couple days ago, after the incident with Two-Face.

Seconds later, he could hear a motorcycle approaching, the roar of the engine reverberating off the walls, augmenting the noise so it was loud enough to drown out the music. 

Tim clicked his tongue. “What are you doing here?”, he shouted from underneath the car once he heard the engine dying down.

“Aww, look at that”, he heard Jason cooing mockingly as he approached, “little birdie is playing manly mechanic.” Someone nudged one of his feet not quite so gently. Tim blindly kicked back, smirking in satisfaction when he made contact and was rewarded with a growled “You little –”

“I'd suggest you don't make the owner of the secret base you're invading mad”, Tim replied over the music and Jason's insults. “Or you might find your kneecaps miraculously broken with a wrench.” He knocked against the metal twice once he was finally finished. Pulling himself out from under the car, he sat up on the creeper, one corner of his mouth curled into a smirk that was half pleasant and half threatening. He looked up at Jason, eyes gleaming, and waved with the wrench in his hand. “Specifically _this_ wrench.”

Jason snorted, only audible because the next song was coming up. Tim saw him perking up.

“[Sisters of Mercy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GwWra1sQgo), huh? Guess your taste in music isn't _that_ bad.”

“No, it is not”, Tim said as he rose to his feet and pushed some of his hair out of his face. “Despite what Alfred says.”

“Nothing against Alf, but he doesn't know jack shit about music. The Clash are a classic.”

“I know, right? That's what I said, too!”

After lowering the Redbird 2.0 down onto all four wheels again, Tim grabbed a dirty rag that had definitely seen better days and attempted to remove at least some of the oil staining his hands and arms. His tank and jeans were goners, though. Tim grimaced. Maybe he'd keep them for future attempts at playing mechanic.

Throwing a look over his shoulder, he spotted Jason looking around with thinly veiled curiosity. “Still. What are you doing here?”

Jason grunted and threw him an annoyed look before pointing at his Red Hood helmet that sat on the seat of his motorbike.

“Some bastard last night got a lucky hit in. The integrated comm is all messed up now. Figured your geekiness might prove itself useful for once.”

Tim froze for a moment where he stood. Jason was trusting him with his _helmet_? To _work_ on it? To _fix_ it? That was… wow. Sure, they'd been getting along a lot better since… since. Unless everything those past weeks had been an elaborate scheme, leading to this point and the helmet would blow up in his face once he tried to take a look at its inner workings. On the other hand, Jason really wasn't the type for overly complicated long-term plans. At least he hadn't been in the past whenever it came to _testing his fucking replacement_ , so Tim was going to ignore that little voice in his head warning him about possible traps and take the situation at face value. Plus, Jason hadn't seriously gone after his life in about a year. They'd managed to work together just fine last week. He mentally shook his head to return to the here and now.

“Uh, sure, I can take a look at it”, he agreed and slowly walked over to get it. “Messed up how?” Tim carefully turned the helmet around in his hands, as if it was a priceless treasure. That really must've been a hard hit to cause any damage at all. He sneaked a glance at Jason.

“Stop that. It's just a bump.” Jason grumbled, rubbing the side of his head where said bump was presumably located tenderly. “And it keeps switching frequencies. Even to goddamn radio stations. Had to turn it off completely before it could drive me more nuts than the Pit ever will.”

Tim snorted, erupting into laughter when he pictured the big bad Red Hood kicking ass and shooting kneecaps with a cheesy, mushy pop song to create the ambience. Jason gave him the evil eye and Tim forced his amusement to fade into quiet snickers.

“Anyway”, he cleared his throat, “Sounds like a few contacts were knocked loose. Shouldn't take long to fix. When do you wanna pick it up?”

Jason, to Tim's surprise, suddenly glowered at him as if he had just offended him deeply. Tim raised his eyebrows.

“You busy right now?”, Jason asked gruffly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his white and black leather jacket. Tim blinked before answering slowly.

“Aside from a desperate need to take a shower, not particularly, no. At least nothing that can't wait an hour or two. Why?” Things related to their nightly activities always took priority. Those papers for the next board meeting at Wayne Enterprises could wait.

“Then I'll stick around and make sure you don't try any funny business with that thing.”

Tim almost wanted to protest, but something in his subconscious told him not to. He stared at Jason for a few seconds who looked back evenly. The gears in Tim's head were turning faster than they had in a while. _… Is that Jason-speak for “Let's hang out”?_

“... Sure, knock yourself out”, he agreed, a tiny bit wary because one could never be entirely sure when Jason was involved. “But don't think I couldn't rig your helmet if I wanted to even if you're breathing down my neck”, Tim added as a semi-playful threat as he headed for the elevator to get to the first level of his Nest where the showers were located. He actually _was_ fairly sure he could do it. He wasn't the resident tech genius for nothing.

“Yeah, yeah, you're a nerd, don't we all know it”, Jason replied dismissively while following him into the lift. “And I'm not going to _breathe down your neck_ , Prete – Bird Boy. Doubt I can bend down that far without messing up my back.”

Tim noticed the switch in nickname and it set something vaguely, distantly warm off inside of him, but he couldn't help rolling his eyes. Of course _Jason_ was going to take a jab at his height – or lack thereof. Damned genetics. Neither of his parents had been _that_ small, so why was he?! _So unfair._

They both stepped out of the elevator and Tim gestured in the direction of the main panels of his computer system after setting the helmet down on his technical workbench.

“Just wait here, I'll be back in a few. Coffee machine's over there. I don't know whether there's anything in the fridge, but feel free to check. But, uh… careful. I haven't looked in there in weeks. Something might jump at you.”

Jason stared at him, nose scrunched in mild disgust. “You're a slob, Bird Boy.”

“I prefer the term _original genius_.”

“A genius that can't even take the trash out. Holy shit, what is _that_?”

“It helps me think. And that's a popcorn machine, smartarse.”

“Are you _stupid_ – wait, you have a popcorn machine down here?”

“Not so stupid now, am I?”

Jason looked _incredibly torn_ between berating Tim for the mess of case files, food containers and clothes strewn across his workplace and breaking out into an appreciative whistle. He ultimately decided on tossing one of the empty boxes at Tim's head. He caught it.

“Go shower already. I thought princesses were supposed to be all clean and neat.”

Tim tried flipping his hair back and failed. “Are you offering to be my Prince Charming?”, he asked, batting his eyelashes.

“I'm offering to toss you into Gotham River for a fucking _bath_.” Jason chucked another carton at him. Tim snickered, leaning to the side so the container would safely sail past his head. He'd clean that up some other time. In the far future. Maybe.

“I don’t think I want my prince to be this obnoxious.” He turned around to finally head to the showers. The oil was getting gross.

“Oi, _watch_ who you’re calling obnoxious, Odette.”

Tim stopped, turned and looked him dead in the eye.

“You’re obnoxious.”

Jason threw a wrench at him. Tim ducked and hurried towards the washing area, laughing over the clangs of metal hitting metal.

And when he returned from his much needed shower, Jason was still there, lounging on the chair with his booted feet propped up on the console and his leather jacket carelessly slung across the backrest, leaving him in his washed-out shirt and red hoodie. A half-empty box of popcorn on his lap and watching TV on the largest screen in the entire Nest. Tim stood in the door frame, giving himself a moment to take in the situation.

If someone had told him a few months ago that one day, he'd find Jason Peter Todd chilling in his Nest and watching bad action movies while waiting for him to fix his helmet (which Tim was absolutely sure he could do himself, but he liked to believe it hadn't been laziness that brought Jason here) instead of trying to tear his head off, snarling _Replacement_ , he'd have called Arkham on them without batting so much as an eyelash.

But now, after their last few encounters? He was more sure than ever that Jason could be reintegrated into their clusterfuck of a family – was actually well on the way already – and it brought a small smile to Tim's lips when he heard Jason cursing at the idiot hero of the movie, telling him to _aim for the goddamn head, you fucktard_. He could feel the wounds in his still grieving heart healing just a little.

“Stop staring at me as if I'm your fucking hero and get to work. Some of us have things to do in their lives.”

Tim breathed a laugh and entered the central area, heading for the workbench where he'd left the defective helmet earlier. “So pushy”, he sing-songed while digging for the necessary tools.

“I'll _show_ you pushy – _for Christ's sake, shooting them in the chest hasn't worked the last five times, you idiot. Just go for their motherfucking heads!_ ” Jason threw a handful of popcorn at the screen.

 _Yes_ , Tim decided mentally while carefully opening the outer shell and removing the lid to take a look at the inner workings of Red Hood's signature helmet. _This is… nice_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks & a shout-out to [LadyoftheSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheSea/pseuds/LadyoftheSea) for proofreading this!
> 
>   ~~Yes, I am familiar with _YuGiOh The Abridges Series_ , lol.~~
> 
> You can find some extra scenes in the aptly-named _Red & Redder: Extras_.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always, & if you spot any errors, please let me know.
> 
>  **Edit 10/07/2019:** Added a couple lines in the last segment to tie _Pieces of a Puzzle..._ in on both ends. Nothing major, just a few mentions of either Two-Face or 'the incident'.  
>  **Edit 16/08/2019:** Added a few lines in the beginning & near the end for continuity. Again, nothing major, just mentions of RH wearing his Arkham!gear.


End file.
